


Nameless

by heeroluva



Category: Priest (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blasphemy, Blood Drinking, First Time, M/M, Religious Content, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative take on how Black Hat came to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nameless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesexbots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesexbots/gifts).



He’d had a name once before he’d been Priest, a nameless man among the masses, taken from the streets because of his skills. But in return he’d gotten brothers and sisters, a type of family that he’d never had before, so it was a small sacrifice to pay. Or so he’d thought a first. 

He’d quickly learned otherwise while training with those who had been raised in it. Always quick with a smile and conversation, he wasn’t prepared for the silence or distain quickly hidden behind blank faces. He was an anomaly, occurring by chance rather than the careful breeding of the Church. But with so many dying to the vampires, the Church couldn’t afford to be picky. 

Not even the punishments were enough to change his ways, to stop him from pushing his boundaries. He just got better at hiding it, at reading people, knowing who would turn a blind eye to his words or who would humor him.

When the red-blonde man, a year his senior, appeared from a beyond the safety of the walls, he’d thought maybe he’d found a kindred spirit, someone who would understand. 

And in a way he had. The other man cared far more about protocol than ever the strictest of his teachers, but his looks of censure couldn’t contain his amusement, and the older man’s silence when others would have ratted him out without a second thought were enough to solidify their friendship. While he rarely received a verbal response, the attention was enough.

He let his guard down, had gotten cocky. The others noticed; living in such close quarters, there was no way they couldn’t. The Council had had enough of him. As punishment he’d been assigned to a front lines division, despite having never faced a vampire outside of the controlled environment of the training facility. His priest was silent as he was taken away, but the heavy weight of silver blade that was secretly shoved into his pocket gave him hope. 

This was a suicide mission he knew. No one was supposed to return alive. Yet, somehow he survived. He wasn’t the best or brightest of the group, but he was hailed as such for being the last one standing. His punishment was rescinded; he was allowed to return to his division.

Everything changed. The others no longer looked at him with distain, but with a glimmer of grudging respect, and his blue eyed priest was never far from his side.

Their first mission together was far from a success. Intel had been wrong, the nest far more populated than they’d thought. They’d lost three of their own that day. They were among the lucky divisions. But they learned from their mistakes and managed to survive. 

During their fourth mission, they’d been forced to camp out in the open. As the desert’s temperature plummeted with the setting sun, they’d pressed together for warmth as fires would have drawn unwanted attention. He’d awoken to a hand over his mouth, blocking his gasp, and a hard body pressed up against his back. 

The murmured, “Hush,” from a familiar voice had dismissed his worries. 

Waking in the morning to a cold back, he’d wondered if he’d dreamed it. 

When it was repeated on their next assignment, he knew it had been no dream.

The third time it happened, he’d been awaken by the priest’s restless movements during high dark. It had taken him a long moment before he’d realized what was happening, what the shape was, pressed up against him. He’d stiffened instantly, his cheek’s flaming red. From the start there had been rumors that the priest had not been chaste, that he’d lain with someone before his time with the Church. He knew what it entitled, had seen it on the streets, but it was forbidden to them. It was one of the few lines that he’d never dared cross, something he’d never truly considered until now as he found his own trousers uncomfortably tight.

Could two men even lay together, he’d wondered?

It was a thought that would haunt him for weeks, leading him to distraction that was not missed.

When his priest confronted him about it, he was sure he would combust, his cheeks heated red with embarrassment and shame for wanting that which was not allowed.

“It’s nothing,” he’d said before fleeing, doing his best to avoid the other man.

He succeeded until another mission found them again forced to rest in the desert. That night when the priest pressed up against his back in his customary position, he’d felt the unmistakenable bulge. He wasn’t sure how long they’d laid their like that, him frozen, scared to even breath, his priest pressed against him tighter than ever, but it was enough for the rest of their group to drift into sleep.

His heart raced in his chest as one hand pressed over his mouth as the other slid slowly into his pants. When calloused fingers wrapped around flesh that had never been touched by anyone but himself, he was thankful of the hand over his mouth. A part of him said that this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be doing this, that he was breaking his vows, that they could be caught, but the larger part said that nothing that felt this good could be wrong, that he wanted this.

When he tried to thrust again the hand, not knowing what he was seeking, just knowing that he needed friction, a leg was thrown over his, holding him in place. As the hand moved, his own scrambled for purchase, fisting the cloth of the priest’s sleeves. Hot breath ruffled the hair at the back of his neck before lips grazed the spot. Fingers pressed against his lips, and he opened them, fighting the urge to bite as they were shoved in. When teeth and tongue worried the spot on his neck and a fist worked magic on his flesh, he couldn’t help but suck on those digits. 

He must have done something right if the sudden release of breath against his neck and jerk of hips against his back were any indication. When a leg rose, pressing and settling in between his own, pressing them impossibly closer, his world whited out, his body tensed as his senses exploded. When he came back to his senses, he was greeted by an uncomfortable mess in his pants and a wetness against his back. Trying to turn, strong arms kept him in place.

His priest became increasingly bold after that night, tucking them into disused rooms. He learned that yes, two men most certainly _could_ lay together. This had to be heaven.

More than a decade later on the eve of what would seemingly be the end of the war, they entered the same hive that had been their first mission. Again their intel was faulty. 

As he was dragged away from his priest, the heartbreak clear on his face, he thought it was the end.

He was wrong.

He’d been a priest once, before he’d been taken the queen, his blood feasted upon. She played with him first, enjoying his screams, and when she could no longer wring any of them from, she tried to turn him. 

It didn’t take. 

She fed him more blood, and still more, and still he did not change. She bled him dry and tried again. He did not die and did not change, stuck in a never ending hell. 

Maybe this was his punishment for loving his priest. But no, he could not believe that, could not soil those memories. They were the only thing that kept him sane.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he realized that he wasn’t wasting away from lack of food or water, that he seemed to be growing stronger with each feeding. Hesitantly he’d pulled at his binding, shocked when they’d moved. When the queen next came to him again, he didn’t fight the blood, guzzling it down. As she’d try to pull away, he pulled at his binding and they’d slipped away like they were little more than paper holding him in place. Her screams as he held her fast and drained her blood echoed around the hive. The roar that followed would have been fearsome if it had not been cut off by his fist through her chest, her children dropping as though their strings had been cut. 

With trembling fingers, he reached up to his mouth, jerking back as he’d felt the fangs. Walking into the sun, he welcome oblivion, but it did not welcome him. 

He cried.

Knowing that he would find no welcome amongst the Church, he took to wandering from reservation to reservation, slacking his thirst on those who created him.

Hunter some called him. Death he was known to others. Most called him Black Hat.

And when he again met his priest, he expected death, welcomed it even.

Instead he was greeted by a name he had not heard in far too long, a name he had never expected to hear direct towards him again.

“John!”

With strong arms wrapped tightly around him, asking no questions, he knew he was finally home.


End file.
